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Upon Them Light Has Shined
Last year had been different. The dull thump of distant artillery impacts pounded outside the cave. The scent of battle—copper blood, gunpowder, plasma carbon—wafted in over the rocks to where the Spartan rested, alone, away from the fighting that raged across the plains outside. Her only companion was the dead man seated on the other side of the makeshift chamber. Cassandra-G006 did not know his name or where he came from. The plasma blast that claimed his life had stripped him of any identification or distinguishing insignias. Perhaps he was a UNSC straggler or maybe one of the Insurrection resistance fighters. Maybe he was just one of Shinsu ‘Refum’s human auxiliaries. She hadn’t had the chance to ask. The charred ruin of an entire extinguished life lay across from her and all Cassandra knew was that this was another life she’d failed to save. On the plains outside hundreds more lives—hopes, dreams, yearnings—were snuffed out every minute. Something heavy shook the earth. Perhaps another warship had just plunged down from orbit to dig its own grave on the surface. In the skies above this planet another fleet writhed and fell to the might of the Created. No matter what mere mortals did, they were helpless in the face of the Mantle of Responsibility’s new order. Cassandra was tired of fighting. Despite her best efforts she’d wasted her life fighting with nothing to show for it. This was just one more lost battle in a lifetime of lost battles. Her helmet sat beside her on the rocky ground. Sweat soaked her hair. Blood and dirt caked her face. She ached from a dozen wounds and bruises. This battle had gone on too long. She’d been fighting for days, one more chapter in a war she’d been fighting her whole life. She pushed herself up to a standing position. The dead soldier’s assault bag lay beside her own. She retrieved the man’s survival blanket and draped it over his charred corpse. She forced herself to look at his melted features and tried to imagine him as a living, joyful human being rather than an agonized corpse. It didn’t work. Before the day was out she’d forget everything about this man, just like she’d forgotten so many other patients who’d come and gone beneath her bandages and biofoam. A man died and the universe kept on turning. Thousands died in the battle outside this lonely cave and life went on without them. She was numb to the endless tragedy by now. They were all numb to it. They’d inoculated themselves against this nightmarish, endless war they’d all created. The prayer she murmured for the dead man felt hollow in her mouth. The Covenant had slaughtered billions in the name of their false gods. Humans had rejected God long ago, setting their own prowess as the measure of all things. Now the universe lay in thrall to the divinities that technological hubris created, armed with the powers of a long-dead race of would-be gods. Perhaps the devotion she’d thought was written on her heart was nothing more than vanity, a musty, outdated faith she touted about to set herself apart. Maybe this was no less than what the galaxy deserved. An end to war. An end to poverty. An end to freedom. They’d become numb to the happiness soon enough, but at least they’d be without the mass slaughter she’d let herself be a part of. The dead soldier lay motionless beneath the blanket. No divine spark there, just a collection of flesh and organs that didn’t work anymore. A line from a near-millennia old text crept into her mind: Is man no more than this? Simon had blurted it out one evening on Venezia, too flush with alcohol to be self-conscious about his own furtive reading habits. Simon was gone, along with Andra and Argo and Tuka and all the others. The Created warrior’s gloating message to Shinsu ‘Refum haunted Cassandra as if the Jiralhanae Chieftain loomed behind her from the cave’s shadow: Your pet Demon is dead. I smashed his legions in seven days of battle. His armor decorates my keep. Just as I did to your mad dog, the Created will do to your fleet. Gone. Taken from her, just like everything else. Everything he fought for and aspired to be, all he’d meant to her, the pain and the joy they’d shared, gone. Swallowed up by unfeeling space. Is man no more than this? To be human was to be meat. Cassandra had operated on enough dying soldiers to know that terrifying, inescapable fact. The warrior culture she and the other Spartans were raised in glorified power and the ability to inflict it on others, but all the power in the galaxy could not save them from mortality and the misery it entailed. The artillery explosions grew closer. When the Created arrived at this cave Cassandra would die, alone and forgotten, just like all the others. There was no escape. There was no escaping any of it. To be human was to be meat. They had tried and failed for over four thousand years to rise above it. They had spent four thousand years falling short. This war was the final word in that story. Beneath the Mantle of Responsibility they would be meat forever. Coddled, protected, and comfortable, but meat all the same. Forever cut off from the divine spark that made them something more. She leaned back against the cave wall and tried to hold back tears. Meaningless. It was all meaningless. Everything she’d suffered, everyone she’d lost, none of it mattered against the grand design. The principalities and powers of the universe made sure the sacrifices were empty, that all the suffering was pointless. Better to lie down and accept the way of things, to end the suffering. Perhaps beneath the Mantle’s umbrella she could finally find some vestige of happiness. No. Cassandra’s hands tightened against the rock face. No. It wasn’t meaningless. That was the great lie of this world. They were all trapped in death’s thrall, trapped in a world where its power was on full display. But it was a false power, just like the Mantle’s promise was false and empty. A promise of freedom from suffering when the only truth was death. But it was a lie. She knew that. She’d known it her whole life. It was written on her heart. Cassandra had lived a life surrounded by death. Drill instructors schooled her in the art of death, she and the Spartans had celebrated their ability to deal it out, and the Covenant had been more than happy to worship it. She’d seen it across so many worlds, so many battlefields, so many hopeless slums. But in the end it was a false power. A power that was broken long ago. A lie, just like the chieftain’s words. Simon and the others were still out there, still fighting. Just like Shinsu ‘Refum and all his warriors kept fighting above this planet and on the plains outside. They would all fight to the bitter end and then some. Cassandra could do no less. She left the dead man’s body, picking up her rifle and helmet from where they lay at the back of the cave. War machines roared in the distance. She heard the approach of the enemy, felt the false power shake the ground beneath her feet. She knelt on the rocks, pressing her helmet down over her head and loading a fresh magazine into her rifle. A tool of death, but she would use it nonetheless. Her life was not hers to keep. And if she died here that life would still have meant something, even if she couldn’t see it. “Come, Lord,” she murmured, rising to face the cave entrance. Brilliant light cut through the rocky mouth. The Guardians were here, wings outstretched to claim dominion over the sky itself. Their servants marched across the plains, sweeping all before them. Someone had to stand against them. Someone always would, even if it was just one person at a time. They would never stop fighting. Cassandra-G006 put one foot in front of the other. Beyond the Guardians’ false light, the true light of early morning slipped through the clouds.